


Somewhere Along The Way (I Found You)

by Robotamputee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean's burgeoning love of 40s and 50s music, M/M, Sam being mostly oblivious but eventually catching on, Season gr8, gratuitous use of the Batcave's record player, the batcave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-03-14
Packaged: 2017-12-05 08:28:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robotamputee/pseuds/Robotamputee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas visits the Batcave for the first time, and it turns out that the Men of Letters' record player is the biggest Destiel shipper of us all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somewhere Along The Way (I Found You)

**Author's Note:**

> This was basically an attempt to spew my 40s/50s music-related Destiel feels onto the internet that got a little (and then a lot) out of hand, meaning pretty much everything except the music choices was completely pantsed. I do find it does wonders to preemptively soften the blow that 8x17 is sure to deal, though, so there's at least that going for it.
> 
> A list of the songs mentioned (and links to playlists where you can hear them all) is after the fic.

Cas stands in the middle of the study, watching idly as Sam pours over his growing index. The record player is whizzing away in a corner, the steady stream of music doing nothing to dampen Dean's exuberant tirade as he tells Cas about the trials and Kevin and their various exploits while he was gone. The crease in Cas's brow grows deeper as he listens, but Dean's smile is growing wider and wider with every burden lifted off his chest and placed to rest between them, and when he finishes he feels light enough to fly, light enough to dance across the room and take Cas's hands in his.

(And the record plays on: _“Yeah I missed you so. How, you’ll never know. Gee, it’s good to see you, babe!”_ )

Dean takes Cas by the sleeve, instead, and leads him on a long-overdue grand tour of their new home. As he points out the bunker's various features, and as Cas expresses approval and fascination toward every one—from the protections lining the walls to the centuries-old manuscripts to the priceless supernatural artifacts—Dean's heart aches with pride. He shows the angel their kitchen—brass and steel and porcelain gleaming for the first time in decades and begging to be used. He shows him the giant-ass telescope Sam's been trying to figure out how to operate for weeks now with no luck; the war room, with it's map table and ham radio; even the bathrooms ("You've gotta try these showers, man." "I don't need to bathe, Dean." "Oh, you'll _want_ to after you see how good the water pressure is in here.").

They reach Dean's room and Cas hovers respectfully at the entrance, suddenly hesitant to enter this very private man's very personal space, until Dean beckons him inside with a laugh and an impatient wave of his hand, ("C'mon in, Cas, I've got nothing to hide."). Cas is quick to notice the weapons hanging on the wall, his gaze skipping over machetes and shotguns to land on the makeshift blade from Purgatory and then—a small frown growing on his face at the sight of it—the angel sword placed carefully on the ledge behind Dean’s bed. Dean, hearing so little in Cas’s silence and seeing so much in the defeated slant of his eyes, itches to ask about Naomi, to learn the truth behind the lies that have been steadily wearing away at their bond for what feels like years, but he's loathe to break the still-tenuous film of peace growing around them like new skin over an old wound.

(And the record plays on, though it's hard to hear from all the way down the hall: _"The tears, the tears in your eyes tell me just how hard you tried to stay fine, and alive, and come back home to me.”_ )

They return to the study shortly after and Dean wanders over to rifle through the Men of Letters' record collection while Cas pauses to peer over Sam’s shoulder at the manuscripts littering the table. He's pointing out a mistranslated sigil when Dean clears his throat, glancing over at Cas and suggesting that maybe he should stay a while, get his nerd on with Sammy over all the old books, try one of his burgers, just generally rest his wings for a bit. He's trying to pass it off as nonchalant—shrugging as he pulls an album from the box beside the record player to slip it from its sleeve—but the tension in his jaw and the defensive hunch of his shoulders betrays him. He risks a glance at Cas, then, studiously ignoring Sam's innocently bemused expression in favour of gauging the angel's reaction. He's still leaning over Sam on the other side of the room, but as his eyes lock onto Dean's the distance between them seems to shrink to barely a hair's breadth such that Dean finds himself falling back on his heels, trying to find room to breathe.

(And the record plays on: _“Here is a heart that is lonely; here is a heart you can take. Here is a heart for you only, that you can keep or break.”_ )

Cas peers at him with his usual intensity, like he’s trying to see directly into his soul—and who knows, maybe he is (and maybe, just this once, Dean doesn’t mind; maybe it would make it easier for Cas to understand, if he did). Meanwhile, Dean's going mad with nerves and hating himself for it, hating it almost as much as he hates the look, almost like sadness, in Cas’s eyes—like his heart is breaking even though Dean doesn’t know _why_. He just knows he’s never wanted anything else more in his life, and how could Cas not see that?

(And the record plays on, though Dean hastily jerks the needle away a moment later: _“How else can I tell you? What more can I do? Why don’t you believe me? I love only you.”_ )

The room falls to silence, and Dean's paused with two albums in his hand: the one he's just pulled off the cradle and the one he intends to lay down next. He's paused because Cas is still looking at him, and the almost-sadness in his eyes is starting to turn into something different, something warmer. If it's an appraisal the angel's giving Dean, then he seems satisfied with what he sees because suddenly he's nodding, saying “I will, Dean, of course,” with the utmost sincerity, his hands uncurling at his sides (and when had they gotten so stiff, Dean wonders; when had his own become clenched in sympathy?). Cas turns to Sam to ask if he’d like any help with the Enochian manuscripts, and Sam smiles excitedly at the idea of merging Cas's knowledge with the Men of Letters', but Dean is too busy staring at the back of Cas’s head to care, watching as he bends over one of the many books strewn across the table, the line of his shoulders more relaxed than Dean's seen since before Cas's leave of absence. There's a strange feeling of pressure in his chest (or perhaps it's one of release) and who cares what his idiot-of-a-brother would say if he knew what he was thinking right now; his angel is staying, finally _staying_ ; and maybe, just maybe, it’ll be for good this time.

Dean looks down at the records in his hands, a smile playing at the corners of his lips as he sets the old one aside and rests the new one in the record player's cradle. He tips the needle down and breathes deep as music fills the room again, his eyes closing in a brief moment of relief and celebration. When he opens his eyes again it's to Sam and Cas disagreeing over the exact origin of a hastily-drawn symbol in the margins of some decades-old hunter's log, but Dean pays them no mind, choosing instead to saunter across the room towards the minibar and a much-needed glass of scotch. He's humming along to the opening strains of a song he chose partly on a whim, and partly due to some fleeting instinct that he thinks he might inspect more closely, later, when he's in bed and alone with his thoughts.

(And the record plays on: _“How do you speak to an angel? I'm completely in the dark.”_ ) 

Cas pauses in his studies, perking up like a bird who’s just heard the opening strains of another’s song. Dean just wanders out of the room, mumbling something about making Cas one of those burgers he was talking about, his humming continuing to bleed into the study even as he walks off down the hall. 

(And the record plays on: “ _When you know that you've just met an angel, is there a proper remark?”_ )

Cas is staring off into space, blinking slowly as he listens to the words of the song. After a moment he stands and—smiling a little, now—excuses himself from the table to follow Dean into the kitchen, where the slap and sizzle of frying patties on the bunker's grill can be heard. 

(And the record plays on: _“We were alone for a moment. Why was I lost in a cloud?”_ ) 

Sam looks up from his studies to peer quizzically from the record player to Cas’s retreating back. He's listening to the song, now, finally, and just as his eyes begin to widen in realisation and shock he hears the humming still floating down the hall cut abruptly short.

(And the record plays on into the sudden silence: _“Do you speak to an angel in a whisper, or do you just say I love you out loud?”_ )

The silence from the kitchen is becoming unbearable, muffled as it is by the song's repeated chorus, and Sam is on the verge of going to investigate when he hears a string of curses followed by frenzied scraping. The smell of burning patties wafts into the room moments later as Cas says “I highly doubt these burgers would taste better than the ones served at White Castle, Dean.” Sam magnanimously decides to leave his brother and the angel to it, whatever _it_ is (though he has a strong suspicion about that, and the thought of it causes him equal parts elation and the kind of discomfort only a little brother can feel in these situations). His suspicions are all-but-confirmed as he hears Dean laugh and begin to sing along with the song, loudly and off-key and like it’s the best day of this life:

“Do you speak to an angel in a whisper, or do you just say I love you out loud?”

And the record plays on.

**Author's Note:**

> Songs, in order of appearance:  
> Somewhere Along the Way - Perry Como (and others, but his version was the one I had in mind) (referenced in the title)  
> So What's New? - Peggy Lee  
> Welcome Home - Faye Adams  
> Why Don't You Believe Me? - Joni James  
> How Do You Speak To An Angel - Dean Martin
> 
> And, for your listening pleasure:  
> Youtube playlist of the five - http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLPHxUMaEtD58t2ov6ii5Y8bHPFfaFMPxL  
> 8tracks playlist of the five plus a few bonus songs that are similarly old-school and Destiel!feels-inducing - http://8tracks.com/robotamputee/somewhere-along-the-way-i-found-you


End file.
